The military academy at West Point, New York is not a tourist attraction. It doesn’t have shopping malls, fancy resorts, or sandy beaches. But it does have one thing most tourist spots don’t—men in uniform. Tall men, short men, handsome men, strong men.
When I was nine years old, West Point was a wonderland. My father taught math at the academy. Aside from the cadets, summer was green grass and tall, stately pines. Winter snow frosted the ground with a carpet of white, perfect for sledding and skiing. There was a big hill in front of our house where my older brother practiced skateboarding; winding paths through the woods; the Hudson River; and Delafield Pond with bullfrog tadpoles, a huge metal slide that could hold 4 cadets stacked on top of each other, and high-rising diving platforms. But what I remember most were the songs. Songs that my father taught me, songs that I played on the piano, songs that I sung at football games, parades, and celebrations: The West Point Alma Mater, The Corps, The Official West Point March, and Benny Havens, Oh!
Last month I revisited West Point with my father’s class of 1947 for their 65th reunion. I looked forward to the trip with excitement and trepidation. Would I remember the roads, the buildings, my house? Or would my memory fail me?
When I was nine years old, West Point was a wonderland. My father taught math at the academy. Aside from the cadets, summer was green grass and tall, stately pines. Winter snow frosted the ground with a carpet of white, perfect for sledding and skiing. There was a big hill in front of our house where my older brother practiced skateboarding; winding paths through the woods; the Hudson River; and Delafield Pond with bullfrog tadpoles, a huge metal slide that could hold 4 cadets stacked on top of each other, and high-rising diving platforms. But what I remember most were the songs. Songs that my father taught me, songs that I played on the piano, songs that I sung at football games, parades, and celebrations: The West Point Alma Mater, The Corps, The Official West Point March, and Benny Havens, Oh!
Last month I revisited West Point with my father’s class of 1947 for their 65th reunion. I looked forward to the trip with excitement and trepidation. Would I remember the roads, the buildings, my house? Or would my memory fail me?
Everything on campus is within walking distance, according to the cadets, just 10 to 15 minutes apart. New buildings join the old and some have been replaced. And 13% of the cadets are now women. We passed by Lusk Reservoir and Michie Stadium where I used to watch the Army-Navy football games. I remember petting Hannibal (the Army mule) before the games and laughing at the silly Navy goat. We circled “The Plain” where the cadets paraded in perfect formation, resplendent in dress gray with black silk cord and gold buttons. Out Delafield Road is Delafield Pond, the old swimming hole of my youth. And the parking sign at the brand new Jewish Chapel shows that at least one person in the Army has a sense of humor.
Memories are tricky, though. The perspective of a nine-year-old is a far cry from that of an adult, especially after so many years. Delafield Pond seemed much smaller than I remembered. There are no tadpoles or diving platforms, and the metal slide has been replaced with squiggly plastic yellow tubes. My house on Barnard Loop does face a hill, about as steep as the first step on a staircase. And the horrendous walk to school through the woods is, according to Google, a mere 482 feet.
Memories are tricky, though. The perspective of a nine-year-old is a far cry from that of an adult, especially after so many years. Delafield Pond seemed much smaller than I remembered. There are no tadpoles or diving platforms, and the metal slide has been replaced with squiggly plastic yellow tubes. My house on Barnard Loop does face a hill, about as steep as the first step on a staircase. And the horrendous walk to school through the woods is, according to Google, a mere 482 feet.
Some things, however, retained their impact. Uniforms have changed over time, but a good looking man in uniform can still take my breath away. And since there are over 4600 cadets, imagine a lot of heavy breathing. The buildings of stone and brick are still imposing. The marching band with their plumed hats and twirling drumsticks made me gape in awe. Such precision and flair. And the music touched my soul. The clear call of the bugle playing taps squeezed my heart while the notes of songs from my past brought tears to my eyes. I remembered the words, even now, and sang along under my breath, my heart swelling with each beat, each turn, each twirl.
By invitation of a Firstie (fourth year cadet) we visited Nininger Hall, which houses three cadet rooms that have been preserved going back to the early 1900s. Everything in perfect order—shirts, towels, buckles, spit shined shoes—just like in Officer and a Gentleman.
As we left the Hall, the manager ran after us with the 1947 Howitzer and showed us my father’s yearbook picture. “What a ‘stud muffin’” one of the women in our group remarked. We all laughed, including my dad, and I heartily agree.
Listening to the stories of my dad’s classmates, how they all graduated from the same place and some maintained Army careers while some went into the air force or became industrial engineers, store managers, actors, and more, was fascinating. They’re a wonderful group of people with a lot of warmth and compassion who share a common background. They love West Point. But the gift for me was to share all these memories with my dad. To walk where my dad walked, to glimpse his life as a cadet, to imagine and relive his role in helping to shape the future.
Heritage is an important part of who you are. This trip helped me find the pieces of my past that I treasure.
Here’s to the Corps.
[Last verse of the West Point Alma Mater]
And when our work is done,
Our course on earth is won
May it be said, ‘Well done;
Be thou at peace.’
E’er may that line of gray
Increase from day to day,
Live, serve, and die, we pray,
West Point, for thee.
Heritage is an important part of who you are. This trip helped me find the pieces of my past that I treasure.
Here’s to the Corps.
[Last verse of the West Point Alma Mater]
And when our work is done,
Our course on earth is won
May it be said, ‘Well done;
Be thou at peace.’
E’er may that line of gray
Increase from day to day,
Live, serve, and die, we pray,
West Point, for thee.
RSS Feed
